Angels In The Flesh, Devil In The Bone
by UndergroundValentine
Summary: He promises to himself that he's going to find every Godforsaken angel and tear them from their place. He has been wronged by the so-called Holiest of Creatures. And he will make them pay.
1. Prologue

**[Tommy's POV]**

"…And it is with this that we hereby strip you, Thomas, of your angelical being…"

The words ring through him like ice tumbling down on itself. Breaking and vibrating in the still of the air. The breath that was once locked in his chest dispels itself and he finds himself nearly gasping. But whether or not he's gasping for breath or for realization, he's not entirely sure.

"What?" He questions, stopping them in the middle of their sentence to stare up at them. His heart is racing in his chest and he wonders if this is a dream or not. Surely it has to be. He's done nothing wrong. Nothing to call for this drastic measure. Nothing except the nightfall and the… "You can't! Please, reconsider this, you can't!" He's not proud to beg, but he does it anyway.

"We can, Thomas. And we will. And you should know better than to question us when a decree has been reached…" They tell him, their halos burning in the near dark and he quivers, whimpering softly.

"No, please, you don't understand, I—" he begins.

"You knowingly advanced upon a human in your truest form, exposing yourself and our kind to not only him but that of a seven year old child, _and_ you struck the human down! The exposure we might have been able to overlook, Thomas, but you slaughtered that human man." Their explanation means nothing to him. He knows what he did, and he knows why he did it. But he also knows they won't listen. Though, something within him demands that he try. He has to try.

"You don't understand! He was going to hurt her! I wanted to save her!" Thomas shouts back at them, his wings locked tight to his back. His halo hovers above his head, but he still feels the urge to reach up and clutch it in his fingers and never let go of it. He's fearful. And angels are not meant to be fearful.

"He did not present himself as an assailant, and therefore was of no harm to the girl at the time you attacked him," Thomas shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes. "For this offence, you are banished!"

"You weren't even… You didn't see what he was going to do! You didn't see it like I did!" He screams at them, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes like drops of dew on the lips of leaves.

Thomas has always been a little strange in comparison to other angels. Other angels have golden halos, Thomas has one with a bit of an orange hue to it. Angels have white wings. Thomas has cream-colored wings. Angels have blue or green eyes—eyes that are pure. Thomas has brown eyes—tarnished and full of sin, as they all say to him. They say he's an abomination. A poor, wasted excuse for an angel. The devil's mock of an angel…

He watches as their eyes narrow at him beneath the light of their halos. The flowing robes of pure, white silk and silver threading tumble like a waterfall down their thrones, disappearing into nothing before they touch the floor. Three pairs of ice blue judging him, scrutinizing him and his gifts. He can see the bad things humans are about to do before they even think it. He can shield his wings and halo and pretend to be human amongst those not of his own kind. He can shred like no angel has heard.

The devil's mock of an angel… Because he has what are called "tainted" talents.

"You willingly acknowledge before us that you have the taint of Sinner's Sight? And that you used such questionable powers before assaulting an innocent human?" For being considered strange in his own right, he's learned that he's self-aware and aware of the self. Perhaps he's the only one, for these angels before him aren't listening. But he knows that they know.

"He wasn't innocent! He was going to rape her!" 

"Silence!" Their voices ring throughout and Thomas feels a chill grip his heart, clutching it in iron chains. The tears refuse to fall but they're beginning to burn. "Your tainted, vicious talents and your actions are more than accountable for your crime in harming a human individual. You are stripped, Thomas, and banished."

Clenching his jaw, Thomas stares with hard, cold eyes as their halos glow brighter. He feels a sharp tug and a sort of searing-of-the-soul as his own halo is forcefully burned out. The ring drops past his head and lands around his neck, tightening like a collar around his throat.

His wings unfurl against his will, the feather-y tips unraveling like balls of yarn, each soft, cream colored tip burning to ash as they fall away. The fires consume his wings before they finish unraveling, and Thomas howls as he feels the bones and tendons sizzle and scorch, leaving his shoulder blades and skin scarred and blackened by the Holy Fire.

A force that is both unseen and unknown forces Thomas to his knees, and he knows what's coming next. He's heard the stories of those who have been cast away for turning Dark. They become what are known as Fallen Angels or Devil's Children. He clenches his jaw tighter, pain surging from his throat and neck where the halo sits a little too tight into his skin. The once-glowing-light burns like hot metal and he howls, clawing at it and burning his fingers in the process.

For being angels, their methods of banishment are absolutely torturous. Tears pool thick like syrup in his eyes but they do not fall, whether by some magic of his own or his owl determined will. He will not give them the satisfaction of his grief for this damning process. Instead, he clutches the halo against his throat, shivering and groaning with pain as it cools before falling to pieces like broken glass.

He stares at the fragments, his fingers pressed to the seared scar in his throat before lifting his eyes to them. Their frozen eyes are piercing through him and he hopes within himself that his normal amber-like eyes look black now. Black like they've claimed his soul to be. Black like the Devil.

If they accuse him of it, he will live up to the name. He promises to himself, before the floors vanish from beneath his knees and cast him down to Earth as a scarred and damned Child, that he's going to find every Godforsaken angel and tear them from their place. He'll rip apart their wings, smash their halos in Devil's Fire and claw his way back up to this place for vengeance, for he has been wronged by the so-called Holiest of Creatures.

And he will make them pay.


	2. Made Of Blood In A World That's Plastic

**You're Made Of Blood In A World That's Plastic**

**[Tommy's POV]**

Six years, and he still remembers the Fall.

If he pictures it hard enough in his mind, he could almost compare it to flying. There had always been occasions where he would venture out of his resting place and soar through the night sky, his wings spanned tight and free with the wind flowing like water through the feathers. Such flights would leave him breathless, especially when he would snap his wings in to his back and tumble, letting gravity claim him and, just before he would grace the ground, his wings would unfurl like clouds and lift him back into the arms of the night.

If he pictures he hard enough, he remembers that there was no breathlessness. There was no snapping of the wings to carry him back up and to the safety of the heavens. There was only pain upon pain. Pain in the scars and the betrayal; pain from the fall, the crash and the burn; pain from feeling such hatred for those he once adored so passionately. There was only pain.

Biting his lip and forcing the memories back, Thomas turn his attention away from the sleek, glossy wood of the bar counter and back to his drink. He raises it and tops it off in a quick, scouring swallow before slapping a bill down onto the surface. He doesn't care to get his change, the tender can keep the rest.

Turning on the stool, Thomas pushes off from the leather and the metal, his leather and studded jacket clinging tight to his slim frame. It's a glossy black that buttons more along the left side of his chest than it does the middle. Both shoulders have studs and spikes set into them, gleaming under the weighty light of the bar's neon signs. His pants are leather as well, clutching tight to his thighs with the studded platform boots to cover the rips around his calves.

His lips are painted a thick, deep black to match his nails and his eyeliner, a smoky touch of charcoal-colored shadow on his lids and nowhere else. His hair is parted, extremely, to the left to reveal a short chop of buzzed brown hair that blends up into thick, rich blond locks. Multiple silver loops run through the lobes in both ears, one cartilage pierced with several hoops while the other has a steel bar pinned from one side to the other.

He looks as menacing as he truly is, with what looks to be a lick, leather bullwhip strapped to his hip. He towers at six feet with the boots, looming over several of the customers that stumble back and forth in the bar. Some try to get a look at him, others steer clear from him. He appreciates the latter because he has no interest in wasting his time with drunk dumbfuck humans.

He makes his way across the floor and to the double doors that serve as the front entrance to the bar. He's had his fill for the night and has one more stop before he can turn in back home, if he can even really call it that much.

Outside, the night air is sticky warm and it makes him smirk a little to himself. He's always preferred the heat and the wet of the humid smog. Even as an angel with his halo and his wings, he loved it. The others thought him strange of it, as they preferred cooler, more controlled climates. But then again, he was never one for fitting in with the norm. He has half a mind these days to wonder if that was part of why he was banished. Was he too weird?

Shaking his head, Thomas, turns on his heel and cuts through the shadows of the streets. Six years has done him a lot of things. The first had been close to nothing, as he'd self-apprenticed himself in the Dark magics. Due to his Fall, he had been stripped of everything. The impact didn't help anything either. He'd spent the first six months hospitalized before being declared dead. When they wheeled him to the morgue, he got off the cart and walked out into the night, naked and undead.

He remembers trying to get back on his feet and understand his surroundings. Since he'd been a pureblood angel, he'd known little of the mortal world. With the exception of his nightly flights and adventures, he spent no time there despite his talents to blend. It had been forbidden of him.

The second and third years spent of being a Fallen Angel—Devil's Child, as he prefers now—he'd hunted scents of angels. He could remember them well enough; he catalogued them for future dates. He plans to assassinate them all. Fourth year of his renewed life to this moment now, skipping through the shadows with his talents quick at hand, he's removed twelve angels from existence. He keeps fragments of each halo on a iron link bracelet around his left wrist, each shaped into the letter of their first name.

He's catalogued seventeen angels. Thirteen angels that had all considered him strange and foolish, undeserving of his heritage. Three angels that tore his halo and wings from him and burned him with the marks of a devil. And one angel that, in all reality, has done nothing to him that could call for grounds of eternal, burning torment, but he's made an oath to remove _all_ angels…

Turning a quick corner, Thomas inhales deeply, smelling the lofty scent of purity. The thirteenth angel is close, he knows. Close and unsuspecting, as they always are. He smirks slyly to himself, cutting through several shadows, skipping up to a roof top. He emerges from a cloud of rolling black, the moonlight washing onto him. The metal and the leather gleam as he stares down across the streets. His brown eyes swirl black and everything shifts in a sort of reverse in his vision. All that is black is white and all that is white is black.

And there, nestled under the safety of a street lamp, hovering over what looks to be a young man, is the angel. His name is Brad.

Thomas grits his teeth. He's sworn to himself that he will relish in the slaughter of all of these angels, but Brad… Brad is different. He could always see in the angel's eyes that he did not feel the same. Brad, in his own way, liked Thomas. But Thomas cannot spare. He can only regret it later.

Inhaling slowly, Thomas melts back into the shadows, skipping down over cars and slipping through cracks until he's nestled within the shadow of the young man, tailing beneath Brad. The angel doesn't seem to notice him in the slightest as his human walks beneath him, above Thomas. The two-toned Child shifts and wavers as the human curves around a corner, heading towards what looks to be a nice apartment complex. Brad shifts above him, peeling away with a look of misery on his face.

Thomas slips away, gluing himself to the wall, watching Brad as Brad watches the human vanish into the complex. He can see it clear on Brad's boyish face that he's fond of the human. This knowledge makes it harder for Thomas to commit, but he's sworn so he must. He must and he shivers a little as he steps from the shadow, staring hard at the back of Brad's head, reaching for his whip.

The shift in the air causes the angel to turn and Brad's soft brown eyes widen as he floats back, his wings twitching. "T-Tommy?" He stutters, shaking visibly in the air. His halo is glowing faintly in the dark, and Thomas clenches his jaw.

"Bradley," he says simply.

"Oh… Tommy, what has happened to you…?" Brad asks quietly, his eyes shifting up and down the line of Thomas' changed body. Where pure, soft light used to radiate, shadows of black lace seem to drip from the tips of his fingers and off of his shoulders like bat wings. If he shifts right, he can still feel the tug of the scars in his back and throat.

"Exactly what happens to the others who are ripped from the heavens and cast away like broken toys. Only, in my case, I was wronged and banished under false accusations. And… my upbringing has been a little..harsher..than others," he says, pulling his whip from the clip in his side. Brad's eyes waver sadly, but he doesn't seem to be afraid in the slightest. It's almost as if he knows.

"Tommy… You don't have to do this. You don't have to be this way…" Brad tells him, but Thomas just shakes his hip and uncoils the whip. The leather shifts in the dark and is tipped with smoking metal. He swallows the lump from his throat, glaring hard at the angel floating across from him. He misses his wings.

"I do. You all made me this way. I'm just living up to your expectations." He snarls, rearing back and cracking the whip in the dark. It lashes at Brad and curls around his throat. The angel doesn't fight as his knees buckle, and he falls to them. His halo flickers in the dark of the street.

"Tommy…" Brad wheezes as Thomas flicks the whip, tightening it around Brad's throat. He walks forward, his footfalls heavy against the wet pavement. Thomas reaches up, the halo glowing bright for a brief moment before crackling as his tainted fingers curl around it. Brad seizes and gasps in pain, his skin turning ashy white. Black spreads from Thomas' fingertips into the halo before smoke clouds Brad's eyes, turning them grey.

The whip's tail tightens and digs into Brad's throat. Black veins well around the cord, pulsing visibly against the ash of Brad's neck. His wings dry and shrivel like dead leaves rather than feathers before they fall away, crumbling into smoking ash as they dissolve into the pavement. The halo burns Thomas' fingers but he rips it from the orbit it has around Brad's skull, and the angel seizes again, his entire form turning grey before crumbling to nothing.

The halo cracks into Thomas' grip, and he crushes it in both palms. He holds it for a long moment before removing his top palm to see the grayed stone in the shape of an elegant bee, slightly smaller than the size of a penny.

Clipping it to the chain around his wrist, Thomas stare as Brad's initial, hanging loosely beneath his thumb. He coils the whip and straps it back to his hip, vanishing into the dark with a single white feather covered in ash laying in a puddle on the pavement.


	3. Move Just As Fast As You Pull It

**Time Will Move Just As Fast As You Pull It**

**[Adam's POV]**

He hovers over the brunette, watching with mild interest as the human male slashes a paintbrush across a canvas. Rich colors of reds and golds with accents of lavender and charcoal create an abstract visual that is both appealing and bold all the same. He follows the line of the brush across the back of the hand, down the arm over and over the shoulder, up to the face and he smiles softly.

Heart shaped with a jaw-line chiseled from perfection, it seems. A stubble graces the cheeks and chin, swiping over the upper lip with the faintest mustache. The nose and thin and curved in the right places, almond shaped eyes of beautiful blue. He smiles softly as he leans against the wall, watching the male paint on his canvas.

This is his human. A man of his mid twenties and a rather renowned artist, Drake LaBry is his selected human to silently protect and wordlessly guide. Due to enchantment, Drake cannot see him at all, and that's the way it's supposed to be. But there's a sort of bond that connects them, a silver thread that ties him to Drake and to no one else at all.

Adam remembers when he was first told that Drake was his selected. He'd been a young angel then with a halo that glowed to bright and wings that were too long and awkward for his body at the time. He also remembers that Drake did not take to their connection too well at first. The brunette artist had felt that he was being haunted and had moved several times, even had his latest condo blessed. Being a holy spirit, Adam went nowhere.

The first few months of their connection were tense. Drake was always bitter and jumpy, and nothing Adam had done had eased the artist at all. But when Drake wandered down a dark street after an art show and had been jumped, Adam made his presence no secret to the brunette.

While to the offending human Adam was nothing more than a faint glow, to Drake he was detailed in every possible fashion, right down to the stitching of his white leather jacket and matching white jeans. His wings were perfect and his halo was like a ring of gold fire around the top of his head. He remembers Drake had stepped back in awe, staring at him as the offending human scrambled away, screaming something about voodoo.

Voodoo… Well, this is New Orleans…

From that day, Drake had felt comfortable whenever Adam came to him. And while the enchantments that Adam casts upon himself every time he visits the mortal world keep Drake from physically seeing him, the brunette seems to know where Adam is every single time. He doesn't mind this, though. It's rewarding to have his selected sense his presence and precisely where he's hovering in the room. It's like being human, himself.

Smiling to himself, Adam pushes off of the wall, almost floating as he crosses to where Drake is standing, painting another piece for his next art show. Adam reaches out, gently grazing his fingers over Drake's shoulder. The selected brunette is so used to Adam's touches by now that the shiver that graces his spine doesn't falter his hand. Adam watches Drake smile and turn his head a little.

"You're leaving?" He inquires. Adam smiles softly, touching Drake's cheek. The brunette leans into the sensation, and despite the fact that Adam cannot truly touch him like a human can, he always tries. "Alright. I'll be here."

Turning away, Adam floats across the room before vanishing through the door, taking flight into the night sky. His wings stretched and cut through the wind like a hot knife through butter, sending him higher and higher with each beat. There's a permanent smile gracing his lips as he soars past the clouds, melting within them and flying towards the heavens.

Diving upwards, Adam slips through the final barrier before staring up at the marble white and gold palace. Angels Haven, as he's learned to call it. The others have always had different names for it, but he found this one most fitting for such a place. Smiling still, Adam flies up to the massive gates, passing through them just as easily as he passed through the barrier below.

Upon entering, though, there's a gripping sensation that coils around Adam's stomach. There's something wrong, and he can feel it deep within his soul. The smile falters as Adam's eyes dart around the exterior walls of the palace in front of him. It's unusually still and quiet, and that unsettles him even further.

Soaring forward, Adam slips into the palace, searching various halls and rooms. Everything is empty and quiet. There are no distant sounds of singing or music playing or chatter or anything. It's all quiet, like he's the only one here in this place. But that's impossible. He can't be the only one here. Angels freely visit their selected, but it's very unlikely that they all go at once…

Biting his lip, Adam hurries down a long hallway before soaring up a wide spiral staircase of polished silver. He passes floor after floor, all empty and silent as the grave. His heart pounds within his chest as he reaches the top of a massive, circular tower. His wings twitch against his shoulders as he folds them shut and lands on the floor with perfect grace. His halo is warm against the black of his hair.

Hurrying down a hall that leads to two white doors, Adam feels tension coiling into a thick knot within his stomach, heavy and cold. He shivers as he touches the doors, gnawing on his lip before he pushes them open.

Across another circular room are the Three Angels of Wise. It is upon them to guide angels to their fullest and banish those who fail to hold onto purity. Their robes are the same white and gold trim, their halos burning bright enough to shield their faces with the exception of their eyes. Frost blue. Like winter.

"So, you've finally come," they tell him, and Adam's heart skips a beat.

"What's going on? Where is everyone?" He asks, slowly making his way to the center of the room, staring up with wide eyes at them. There is a collective sigh and three sets of eyes cast downward glances to the floor.

"There is a situation regarding a Fallen Angel…" They trail off and Adam frowns, tilting his head to the side.

"Who?" He inquires, though something within him seems to already know the answer, and his hands start shaking.

"Thomas." The strange angel. He had brown eyes where everyone else had green or blue. He had creamy brown wings where everyone else had pure white. He had a orange-gold halo where everyone else had pure, brilliant gold. He had talents that no other angel could even hope to possess. Talents that were considered tainted, devilish even. Adam remembers Thomas, though he never met the two-toned angel.

"What of him? Is he the reason the others are missing?" Adam asks, almost pleading to know the answer. He never met Thomas, but he knew the angel was as pure as everyone else. Sure, he had strange talents that made him an outcast, but he had good intentions and a good heart.

"The angels are dead, Adam. We are the last."

Adam's eyes widen and he gasps softly. "All of them?"

"All of them. You are the last angel apart from us of the Wise. Thomas was banished and turned Fallen— a Devil Child. Since his Falling, he has slaughtered the others one by one. It should be no surprise that we are next."

Adam has to swallow several times to get the lump lodged in his throat cleared away. He knew of Thomas' Falling, but he did not realize that his turn had been so hate-filled and vicious. Looking away from the Wise, Adam stares hard at the floor, trying to understand. Thomas had been so pure and so gentle… Why is he so full of hate now?

"Who was the last? To die?" Adam asks, though he's not sure why.

"Bradley." His heart clenches and he closes his eyes for a moment. How could Thomas do this? Bradley liked him… He only went along with what everyone else said because he'd been afraid he'd be considered an outcast, too. But he liked Thomas…

"Who is next?"

"…We do not know. However… You must go to him, Adam. You must stop him." Adam looks up at them, frowning deeply.

"Why me? What is so special about me that I must go and stop a Fallen?" He knows better than to question the Wise. But they're in a situation, and he needs all the information he can get before putting his own angelical life on the line for angels who never show their face.

"You are the last, Adam. You must try. Do not fail."


	4. Once You Were Strong, But Now Degraded

**Once You Were Strong, But Now Degraded**

**[Tommy's POV]**

Sitting on the rooftop edge of a twelve story building in downtown New Orleans, Thomas watches the sun set behind the western horizon. The sky is washed with blood red, burnt orange and gold, burning into his rich brown eyes as he gazes. Clouds are rose pink with glowing white tips around their puffs, and he swings his platform boots a little, gently tapping the wall now and then. His leather jacket is lying beside him, his sleeveless black tee shirt clinging to his frame. A warm wind pushes through his hair and he sighs heavily, watching the sun sink lower and lower.

He hates daylight. True, noon-high, unforgiving daylight. It makes his skin crawl and gives him the most awful headaches. If it's overcast or completely cloudy, he can tolerate it. But, typically, any time after dawn and before dusk, he's inside sleeping or doing his own thing. Sometimes he feels like he's a vampire, minus the blood drinking.

Reaching for the slim chain that is hanging loose against his thigh, Thomas pulls out a small pocket watch that he'd acquired from an angel several years ago. He's not entirely old fashion, but he found something special about the antique device and has carried it with him ever since. Like the bracelet with each angel's initial, it's something that helps him remember.

He presses the small button on top and the face opens up. It's nearly six thirty. Frowning a little, Thomas watches the dials of the watch before closing it again and slipping it back into his pocket. He was told to be here at six, and at six he was promptly in the spot that he's in now. Now half past and still his mystery messenger is a no-show. He has to wonder if this is a waste of his time or not.

Clenching his jaw, Thomas huffs softly as the sun disappears, leaving the sky in a fading pink. Behind him, there is a wash of blackened blue that's racing in, chasing away the daylight. His eyes swirl and shift and he scans the streets for any particular sign, but amidst the white schemes of buildings, streets, cars and people, there is nothing.

Nothing, until the voice sounds behind him.

"Thomas?" His back stiffens with tension and his vision returns to normal. He turns his head, glaring sharply over his shoulder at what appears to be a tall man with midnight black hair and blue eyes, adorned in all white from his jacket to his boots. He frowns, his eyes narrowing.

"Who are you?" He asks. A strange curiosity tells him that this man is familiar, and he wants to see with a more proper Sight just how familiar this man is. But if he's human, he knows better than to use such talents. It's not as visibly subtle as it feels.

"No one of importance," the man says, taking a step forward. Thomas scrambles to his feet, clutching his whip in a tight fist, standing just at an angle that he can react quickly if this man proves to be a threat. The man stops and sighs softly. "I'm not going to hurt you, Thomas. I just want to talk."

"Tell me who you are and we'll talk," Thomas argues, tightening his hand around the whip. The blue eyed man glances at it before sighing heavily. In almost an instant, the glow of a halo appears and the man's pearly white wings unfold ever so slightly. Thomas' eyes widen a little and the hand on the whip starts to shake. "Of course…"

"I mean you no harm, Thomas. Just listen to me…" The angel begins, but Thomas snarls.

"I'm sworn…" Thomas hisses and the angel shakes his head.

"I can help you."

"Bullshit. You're one of them. You let them do this to me!" Thomas screams, pulling the whip and snapping it free, holding it to his side. The tip swirls its smoking metallic black and the angel glances warily at it. "You can't help me, angel…"

"I can… Just..tell me what happened," he begins, holding his hands up in front of himself. "The day you Fell… What happened?"

Thomas blinks once, clenching his jaw and swallowing hard. He tries not to think about it too much, really. The quicker he gets through the catalogue of angels, the quicker he can forget about his Fall and move on with his new life. But this goddamned angel is asking questions and distracting Thomas when he should just be getting on with it and eliminating the last before the Wise…

"Please, Tommy," the angel whispers and Thomas blinks slowly. "Just talk to me. That's all I want… You can kill me after, just talk to me first."

"Why do you want to know?" Thomas questions and the black haired angel sighs softly, looking a little relieved.

"I want to know if I'm making the right choice… They told me to find you and stop you. But there must be a reason that you're doing this. Why you have that whip and those talents. There must be a reason, and I want to know who I should trust…" Thomas snarls a little, retightening his grip around the whip. The angel glances at his hand again.

"Why don't you just trust them, huh? They're always saying they know the right ways, the right paths. Why don't you just listen to them?" Thomas howls, cracking the whip at his side, advancing upon the angel by a step. The angel doesn't move and he doesn't drop his hands.

"Because… They did nothing while the others died… And I want to know why," he says softly, and Thomas stops, just a few feet from the angel. With his boots, he stares right into those swirling blue eyes. The angel isn't lying. His sincerity is as clear as his beauty and Thomas inhales slowly, relaxing his grip again.

"Answer me one question before I tell you," Thomas requests, and the angel nods. "What is your name?"

The angel doesn't hesitate, "Adam."

"Adam. I've heard about you," Thomas tells the angel, relaxing his arm further. Adam drops his hands, straightening a little. "Everyone always said you were a charmer."

Adam cracks a weak smile and raises a shoulder in a simple shrug. "Everyone always said you were strange and… well, awful. But I think they're perception of strange is wrong. Strange isn't bad."

Thomas raises an eyebrow, "And why would you say that? Trying to weasel into what's left of a good side of mine so that I won't kill you right away?" Adam shakes his head a little.

"Trying to get you to understand that I'm not like the rest of them. You've got a vendetta, that much is plainly obvious. And I won't be able to stop you if you truly wish to kill me, but I can at least try to show you that not all of us thought of you as an outsider." Adam's tone is soft and gentle, and Thomas coils his whip, strapping it back to his side.

"Most of you did, though," Thomas retaliates, and Adam shrugs again.

"Most, yes. Bradley and I didn't. And I've heard he's gone…" Thomas looks away from the angel, raising his left wrist to touch Bradley's charmed initial on the chain. Adam glances at it as well, his eyes widening a little at the other twelve initials hanging from his wrist.

"He is… But he's not forgotten." Thomas murmurs.

Adam takes a moment before he speaks, "Why, Tommy? You knew Brad was different? Why didn't you spare him?"

"Because I swore that I would eliminate every angel whose path I crossed. Some I willingly sought, others I found. Either way, I could not let them live…" Adam frowns a little, tilting his head to the side. His eyes don't leave Thomas, and it's beginning to make the blond feel uncomfortable.

"Then you're going to kill me when we're done here, aren't you?" Thomas doesn't look at him. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," he whispers hoarsely. "I have to." From his peripheral, Thomas watches Adam bite his lip as the angel takes a moment to think.

"What did they do to you, Tommy? They said you were banished because you killed an innocent man?" Thomas shakes his head violently, snarling softly more to himself than to Adam.

"He wasn't innocent!" He hisses, glaring at Adam. Adam's eyes are soft and warm, friendly even. He doesn't appear to be afraid, though Thomas knows he should be. "He was going to hurt that little girl and I wasn't going to let him do it!"

"And how did you know that he was going to hurt her?" Adam inquires, and Thomas inhales slowly.

"Because I saw it… I saw it in my head.. He was.. He was going to hold her against the ground and he was going to ruin her… Fuck, she was only seven! I couldn't let him do that to her, so I… I exposed myself out of anger and I killed him because his life was less important than hers!" Thomas growls, tears stinging his eyes again. He can still see her young face staring in awe as he struck that man down.

"And the Wise said you were wrong…" Adam says, and Thomas returns his gaze to the angel. "They said you were corrupt and they tore you apart before you Fell."

Clenching his jaw, Thomas glares hard at the ground. "I tried to make them understand. I tried to tell them that I was saving her life but they wouldn't listen. They were just waiting for the opportune moment to cast me away because I was strange! It's not my fault!" He screams, glaring at Adam again. "I wanted to do something right and they turned me into this!"

"Tommy… It's alright…" Adam says. Thomas doesn't realize until Adam's hands are on his face that the angel has been slowly making his way forward this entire time. The two-toned Child gasps softly, staring up with wide eyes at Adam. The angel's hands are warm and soothing. He feels warm and safe where he's been cold and bitter…

"How can you say that? You're one of them…" Thomas whispers, tears falling for the first time in years. They burn with grief.

"I'm not," Adam replies, wiping away Thomas' tears with his black painted thumbs. "I'm nothing like them, Tommy."

Staring up into Adam's eyes, Thomas has to wonder, "Why are you doing this?" Adam smiles gently at Thomas, pushing the Child's hair out of his face.

"I have my reasons, Tommy. For now, let's get you home. You're going to need to rest if you're going to go after them." Thomas frowns a little and pulls out of Adam's hold, making the angel sigh softly.

"You do realize that if I go after the Wise, I'll just kill you after?" Adam nods once.

"I know."


	5. Bleach That Soiled Life

**Bleach That Soiled Life And Take Your Place In Line**

**[Tommy's POV]**

Pacing back and forth in the bedroom of his apartment, Thomas can't keep his mind off of Adam.

He's not entirely sure why, either. Deep inside of him, he knows that the angel is just buying time before Thomas kills him. He made a vow to himself and to the devil that he's become that he would rid the world of all the angels. He cannot spare any of them; he didn't spare Brad, and Brad hadn't really done anything wrong.

But all the same, within him there's a growing sense of something he doesn't understand. Why is Adam helping him? Why would the angel help a Devil Child? Is that not grounds for immediate banishment? Immediate damnation? He doesn't even know anymore. It's been too long since he was an angel and things always seemed to change, especially for him, when he had been.

Glancing at his reflection in the mirror leaning against the wall, Thomas sighs heavily. His hair is greasy and tangled and there're smudges of liner and a taint of lipstick on his face. He usually paints himself up in the strangest of fashions when he goes and makes a kill. But since it's been nearly two weeks since Brad and he's still wearing it, it's a little foul in his mind.

Balling the excess of his sweater sleeve in hand, Thomas wipes the remains of the lipstick away before cleaning up the smudged lines of his liner with a fingertip. He still looks like a scraggly mess, but it can't be avoided. No matter how many baths or showers he takes with the power of a fire hydrant and lye for soap, he still looks like a mess.

Sighing softly, Thomas flops down onto the edge of his bed. The box spring creaks and groans beneath him. He's not heavy by any means, but it's old. Being dead has its disadvantages, one of those being a lack of a job. No one wants to hire a man who looks like death with a name that's been in a cemetery for the past six years.

He hates it, really. He hates his life. He hates what he's become because it's nothing like what he used to be. Nothing like what he loved. He loved being an angel. It was the most freeing and satisfying place in life. To be a holy guardian for someone else? To protect them from evils and guide them through the right choices so that they, too, may one day be an angel for someone else?

But he had to be different. He had to be the stubborn human with the guardian angel who was a little too determined to make him right. In his previous life, his name was Joseph—a name he's taken for the middle, now—and he'd been a banker. His angel had been with him his entire life but he'd been stubborn. He made wrong choices and did some unfortunate things. He'd been rewarded later to be an angel, in the end. Most people just passed on to the next life and forgot their previous.

Thomas never did. And due to the circumstances of his life and how rotten parts of it had been, he was tainted with differences to reflect; the wings, the talents and the eyes.

Cupping his chin in his palm, Thomas stares at the floor. He was a tainted angel and now he's a Child. A Fallen. He hates it. He hates the dreams and the darkness. The power to shift and melt through shadows is cool, but he hates the rest of it. He hates the vengeance and the loathing he harbors within himself. Sometimes—

"Tommy?" Adam's standing in the doorway, one hand propped up on the frame. Thomas jumps nearly out of his skin before shooting a glare at the angel. Still dressed in white. So original.

"What do you want?" Thomas grumbles softly, looking away from Adam again. The angel sighs and takes a small, tentative step into the room.

"Well… I heard you talking to yourself? And I wanted to make sure you were alright…" Adam admits, and Thomas feels his heart freeze. Had he been saying all those things out loud without realizing it? Fuck.

"I'm fine. Just leave me alone, Adam." He hisses softly, tucking his knees to his chest and resting his chin upon them. Adam sighs again, taking another slow step into the room. Thomas feels tension coiling between his shoulders and he shoots a glare at Adam. The angel is invading his space and he's about five seconds from grabbing his whip.

"Tommy, I know you're lying to me. Just because I'm an angel doesn't mean I don't have my own talents…" Biting his lip, Thomas gazes hard at the flooring of his bedroom.

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Tommy…"

"Leave me alone, Adam."

"Tommy, I—" In a lightning flash, Thomas is on his feet, whip clenched tight in his hand. The smoking tip is curled once around Adam's throat and the angel's knees buckle. His blue eyes are wide and fearful but he's still and calm in body.

"I said, I don't—" the whip tightens a little and Adam gasps, his hands clenching into fists as Thomas advances on him. "—want—" another step, a little tighter. "—to—" another, and Adam's wheezing clutching the whip in his fingers. "—talk."

Strange and confusing as it is, seeing Adam on his knees with black painted nails clawing at a whip is a sight Thomas finds both pleasing and frightening at the same time. Smoking black veins well and pulse in Adam's throat and he knows the angel doesn't have much longer. Grey smoke is swirling in his pupils and his lips are chapped and cracking.

Thomas shakes, making the whip vibrate and tighten further around Adam's throat before something seems to punch him in the gut and he flies back into the wall, releasing the whip as he goes. He can hear Adam choking and coughing, wheezing painfully as he regains his breath. Groaning, Thomas looks over at Adam, seeing white light swirling around his fingers before fading. The angel knocked him back.

He wants to be angry. He wants fury to take over, but when he sees the charred and ragged scars setting into Adam's throat, he stops. Adam's fingers touch the mark and pained blue eyes lift to meet Thomas'. He wants to be raging with hatred and he feels like he should grab his whip and tear Adam apart. But he doesn't. He stares at the scar he's just made before gazing into Adam's eyes.

"I just.." Adam wheezes, his pure and soft voice hoarse and scratchy. Like he's been swallowing glass all day. "Wanted to talk…"

Thomas frowns a little, tearing his eyes away from Adam's before looking down at the whip. The metal tip is smoking still but it quickly fades when he touches the handle. Gathering it into his hands, he coils it and sets it down on the bed above him. Standing slowly, Thomas brushes the dust off of his pants and shirt before glancing back at the wall. There's a crack from where he hit it, but it's nothing major.

Looking back to Adam, Thomas is speechless as he crosses to the angel, extending a hand. Adam eyes it cautiously before raising his gaze to Thomas' face. "The whip is poisoned. If I don't clean it and give you the antidote, you're going to die. You can either take my fucking hand or sit here and turn to ash, I really don't care either way." Thomas explains bitterly.

Adam's eyes soften some and he takes Thomas' hand, letting the Child lift him shakily to his feet. Thomas loops his arm around Adam's waist when the angel's knees threaten to fail, and he guides Adam out of the room and down the hall to the only bathroom in the apartment.

It's a decent size with a bathtub on the far wall. Double vanity sink and a toilet in the corner. Thomas kicks the seat down and motions for Adam to sit. The angel does, weakly, still gingerly touching the scar that's setting into his throat.

"Stop touching it," Thomas tells him, pulling out an ointment he made as well as a tiny bottle and a syringe. He had to learn on his own the power of the poison and the burns it could leave behind. He's just been fortunate enough to make antidotes and healing ointments to stop the slow process of death.

Dabbing some of the ointment onto a cotton swab, Thomas leans over to Adam, tilting the angel's head back to clean out the spreading scar. It's nearly two inches wide of smoldering black. Biting his lip, Thomas feels another kick in his gut, this time of his own accord, as he smears the cotton swab along the burn. Adam sucks in a breath and tenses and Thomas gently holds his jaw.

"Try to relax," He says, and Adam moans in pain as Thomas circles the swab around. "You're going to be in pain for a while." Adam hums in response as Thomas cleans the wound before tossing the swab into the trash. Grabbing the bottle and the syringe, he fills the needle completely before looking back to Adam.

"This is going to be very, very cold. I have to keep it chilled otherwise it'll have a reverse effect and kill you faster." He says, and Adam's eyes widen.

"How do you keep it chilled?" He asks, and Thomas smiles a little.

"I installed a freezing component in my medicine cabinet."

Pushing the needle into the side of Adam's neck, he injects the serum slowly. Adam jerks a little and gasps, his eyes blown wide before they flutter and shut again. Thomas's fingers are curled under Adam's jaw to hold him steady, his thumb pressed to Adam's pulse. The angel's heartbeat is frantic at first before it slows and he removes the needle, massaging the mark gently. The scar is beginning to fade to a normal light pink.

"There," he says, letting go of Adam's neck. The angel frowns a little and touches his throat again. "Don't be alarmed if you find yourself sleepy. It'll probably knock you out later. It does to me."

Adam nods slowly. Tossing the contaminated needle, Thomas sets the bottle back into the cabinet and starts to turn away when Adam grabs his wrist. Stopping, Thomas glances back over his shoulder to stare at the angel's face, and he feels his stomach clench.

"Thank you," Adam says softly, and Thomas raises an eyebrow. "I… I don't know why you saved my life. But thank you."

Thomas feels Adam's hand start to slip a little before their fingers touch. The angel lingers before Thomas pulls his hand away, licking his bottom lip. He grunts softly, shrugging once before turning away again. "Don't mention it."


	6. Hurt Like You Hurt Me

'**Cause There's Nobody Else Who Can Hurt Like You Hurt Me**

**[Adam's POV]**

Gingerly touching the scar, Adam stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror of Thomas' apartment. It's a faded yet still angry pink color in the contrast of his pale-ish flesh and he sighs heavily, dropping his hand again. He hadn't meant to aggravate the two-toned Child so much, but then again he also should have listened to the boy and simply left him alone.

But Adam's never really been one to be so obedient.

Biting his lip, Adam turns on the faucet to the sink and splashes cool water on his face. He can still feel the white-hot burn of the whip tightening around his throat and the Dark magic that whispered sinister things into his head. It was almost as if in that one instant where Thomas was holding the devilish item that they were connected. He could hear the hateful things that were flying through Thomas' subconscious, and the memory of such makes him shiver. He's come in contact with Dark magic before, but never of that valor.

Snatching the towel that's hanging on a small metal hook beside the sink, Adam dabs his face dry before looking at his reflection again. Within his pupils is a faint film of grey. He can see just as perfectly clear as he could before Thomas attacked him, but the grey is just another effect like the scar. He opens his eyes a little wider, peering closer at them. The grey seems to swirl, like it's smoke almost. Or ash.

_Sit here and turn to ash…_ Was that what Thomas meant? The power of the whip turns angels to ash? It would make sense, in a way. Turn the angels to ash and no one knows they ever existed. They would just seem like anything else that's been burned to nothing… Shivering a little, Adam tears his gaze away from his own eyes.

The strange attack was yesterday, and Thomas seems to have completely forgotten about it entirely. Or, perhaps, as Adam likes to believe, he's just choosing not to bring it up because he regrets it. It's not an entirely farfetched idea, in truth. Adam's been staying with Thomas in this run-down apartment for the better part of a week and he'll occasionally catch the Child fiddling with the charm bracelet on his left wrist with a look of utter remorse on his face.

Then he catches Adam staring and a wall comes up, like nothing had ever happened.

Sighing heavily, Adam sets the towel back onto the hook before shutting out the light of the bathroom. It's quarter to seven in the evening and he has half a mind to leave and go visit Drake. He hasn't seen his selected since he went before the Wise and found out that all of the other angels were dead. His heart clenches again at the idea of Brad being gone and he sighs again.

"Something the matter?" Thomas says cautiously and Adam nearly jumps ten feet through the ceiling before whipping around. When he's with Thomas, he keeps up a mirage of humanity to hide his halo and wings. No sense in tempting the Child to just get the deed done and over with. Part of him doesn't want to die, but he knows it's inevitable. He saw it in Thomas' head, when the whip was around his throat. The Child is going to kill him soon.

"N-no… Just..spacing. That's all." Adam says softly, mindlessly touching the scar again. Thomas' eyes follow the path his fingers take before looking away quickly.

"Stop touching it." He says and Adam frowns a little.

"Why? I thought you healed it?" He questions, suddenly worried if Thomas only slowed the affects. Not that it matters. He's going to die.

"I did. It just… Never mind," Thomas huffs, pushing past the angel. Adam frowns and turns to Thomas, watching the back of his head as the Child walks down the hall and into the living room, plopping down onto the couch. He sighs, following slowly before sitting down in an arm chair across the room from the two-toned male.

There's a bit of an awkward silence as Thomas stares at the table and Adam at his own hands in his lap before the Child speaks, "So what's the plan? I can't get back into heaven on my own. And I doubt that they're going to let you in if I'm with you…"

Adam bites his lip, feeling his fingers tingle as he raises a hand. White light flashes and a perfect, pure print of the Haven swirls into formation above the coffee table. Thomas squints a little at the light and Adam relaxes his hand, reducing the intensity. Thomas glances at him with a sort of knowing thanks before looking to the print.

"I can bring you up to the exterior gates without them noticing. I'll have to cover you with light, though, otherwise they'll see you. I'll go in first and distract them in some fashion or another, allowing you the time to, essentially, break in? You'll have to move fast, though. If they know that we're working together, they make us both Fall. For you, it would do nothing. But, for me…"

"I understand." Thomas says quickly.

"What are you going to do?" Adam asks quietly and Thomas sighs, folding his hands in front of his face.

"I'm not sure. I generally go about this off of the top of my head, but this is going to be a little trickier. It would be easier if I could get them out of the heavens and down to Earth, but they'd never leave, even with convincing enough bait." Adam nods slowly, staring at the print of the Haven before them. He shifts his fingers and it shows the tower where the Wise are.

"As you know, they never leave this chamber. From your angel days, you remember that it's guarded and sealed with Holy magic. And.. such purity will no doubt weaken you," Adam explains and Thomas nods carefully, staring hard at the model. "I can try to give you some of mine to help you, but… I don't know if your body will accept it easily, if at all."

"Why is that?"

"Well… You're a Child, Tommy. You harbor Dark magic. The Dark within you will try to expel anything Holy that tries to enter you. But, maybe, if there's still some part of your previous angelical being, it might be able to—"

"There's nothing left, Adam. Don't even bother." Thomas cuts in quickly and Adam frowns some.

"Is it really so impossible to try though? I'll only do a little and see—"

"Don't, Adam. It's not worth it. I want to make sure I'm alive to tear these bastards apart, and if you ruin that for me, I swear—"

"I get it. I'm sorry." Adam intervenes, refusing to look at the two-toned Child. While he doesn't see the harm in trying, he doesn't want to push Thomas again. The first time was bad enough. He doesn't think he'd be able to survive another encounter with that whip of his.

Thomas sighs from across the room as the print fades. The light vanishes and Adam feels tired again. Using magic always makes him weak, and if he's going to try to conceal Thomas and get him up into heaven, he knows he's going to be exhausted before the plan is completely executed.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the offer… I mean… I miss it. Being an angel and all. But it's not who I am anymore, Adam. And it's not worth it to me to try and pretend to be one when I'm just going to go back and rid those who turned me into this anyway. Why have the satisfaction of an angel's talents when I'm just going to live up to the name of the beast they made me into?" Thomas says gently, his voice soft and pained. Adam looks over at him, frowning a little.

"But what if it is, Tommy? Deep down past all that hate? What if there was still a part of your old self in there?" Adam inquires. Thomas raises hard brown eyes to meet Adam's blue ones and Adam feels his soul grow cold.

"There isn't. It's gone, Adam. They tore it away from me when they ripped my wings and burned my halo out. You think I got this from an accident with my whip?" Thomas questions, motioning to the ring around his throat. Adam had wondered briefly, since it was similar to the one he now harbors. "It's not. They suffocated me with my own destroyed halo…"

Adam can't suppress the gasp that falls from his lips and Thomas looks away, his eyes shining with what looks to be tears. "Tommy… Do you really think you're so awful?" He says gently and the Child turns his eyes onto the angel.

"What do you think? I've slaughtered and burned thirteen angels. Most of them didn't even do anything to me… I did it out of rage and hate for the ones who took everything I ever wanted away. Everything because I wanted to save a little girl from suffering for the rest of her life…"

"Tommy, that doesn't make you a bad person… That makes you beautiful…" Adam tells him gently. But the Child just snorts and shakes his head.

"No it doesn't. It makes me tainted because I was able to see what that man was going to do. It makes me strange and awful because I have different talents from anyone else and they didn't like that I was different!"

"They didn't like that you were better than them," Adam assures, and Thomas turns his eyes onto Adam, his face streaked with tears. Deep within his soul, Adam finds the sight of Thomas grieving both beautiful and heartbreaking. "You had talents they could only dream of. They were too pure. Too supposedly-perfect and you… You were humane and special and they didn't like that. So they made you an out-cast. They made you hate because you were so beautiful and special…"

"Shut up. I'm not and I never will be. I'm a monster. They wanted me like this so they made me Fall. And I swore I would make them pay; that I would live up to the name they've given me so they can regret it later while they burn…" Adam frowns deeply, staring hard at the two-toned Fallen Angel.

"Tommy…" Adam begins but Thomas just shakes his head and wipes the tears away.

"Get some rest, Adam. We're leaving tomorrow night. I want this done and over with." Thomas says. He doesn't even wait for a response before he storms down the hall to his bedroom. Adam watches him go with a heavy heart and equally heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

"Oh, Tommy… You don't know how beautiful you really are…"


	7. A Hole Where My Soul Used To Grow

**There's A Hole Where My Soul Used To Grow**

**[Tommy's POV]**

He doesn't sleep. Even with the thoughts of what he's going to do in the evening to follow putting themselves aside, he can't get any sort of rest. The things that Adam had said to him are rolling around like loose marbles in his mind and they echo off of the walls and cliffs of his subconscious. Just when he feels like he's about to slip under, two words ring through him and bring him back to it all.

_You're beautiful._

How could someone so pure and so fucking perfect say that about him? He's not beautiful. He's hardly beautiful anymore. He's a Devil Child, a Fallen Angel. He's been cursed by eternal damnation and hatred. He's not beautiful. He's slaughtered so many angels and ruined so many selected for the loss of their guardians. He's not beautiful.

Tossing over onto his side, Thomas tries not to think about Adam and his halo and his wings. He tries not to think about how much he misses his angelical being and how he misses being able to fly through the clouds. How he wishes he could dive bomb and soar back up just in time to escape the crash and burn. How he wishes he could truly be pure again. He hates living with the Dark in his mind and the hate in his heart. He hates it more than he hates the Wise…

Squeezing his eyes shut, Thomas forces the thoughts away. He wants to sleep and he wants to forget about all of this long enough to rest. But when was the last time he was able to truly rest in this life of his? Since his Fall, his dreams have been black and putrid and demented. Of fires and ash and watching each angel dying right before him over and over.

The bracelet feels heavy against his wrist and Thomas blinks away tears. His heart clenches painfully in his chest as he buries his face into his pillow. He can't stand feeling this way. Every night he finds himself in this room of his with the sensation that he's falling apart at seams that are constantly fraying, and he wonders how long he has until he peels away entirely and is reduced to nothing.

He wonders, also, if Adam will still think he's beautiful when that day comes… When he's gone completely ape-shit with hatred for the Wise and for himself. When he's nothing but a hollowed shell of the two people he used to be. What will he be like when that day comes? Will he harbor purity and hatred? Or will he be nothing at all?

_You're beautiful…_

"Shut up," Thomas groans softly into his pillow, curling up tight into a small ball in the middle of his double futon bed. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes as tight as he can, trying to force Adam's words and his voice out of his head.

_You're beautiful and special…_

"Shut. Up." It feels like there are cracks spreading within his being, burning and aching with a kind of pain he's not familiar with. A pain that makes him shake and moan sadly. A pain that he wishes would go away and leave him to feel nothing. He knows nothing. He doesn't know this.

_They made you hate because you were beautiful and special…_

"_Shut up!_" Thomas howls into his pillow, shaking with sobs that threaten to rip themselves from within his very being and sound all throughout his bedroom. He's trembling and whimpering so much he doesn't even hear his door open or feel the shift of the bed until warm arms loop around him and pull him close.

He doesn't have to look to know it's Adam. He doesn't have to use his talents to know that the angel's wings are unfurled and tucked safely around the both of them, holding him close to Adam's gentle and soft body. He buries his face into the angel's chest, crying against bare skin and smelling a thick scent of human cologne and angelical purity; it smells like the ocean.

"Shhh… Tommy, it's okay…" Adam whispers to him, running his black-painted fingers through Thomas' hair. But the Child only shakes and moans with tears even more. It's not okay. It won't be okay because he's a Fallen and he's let himself slip so low…

"Shut up…" Thomas moans, sniffling and sobbing into Adam's chest. The angel tries to calm him by massaging his skull with firm and warm fingers, but Thomas just tries to pull away from him, tears streaking his face.

"Tommy, don't…" Adam murmurs gently, pulling Thomas back into his arms. He shakes his head, pushing at Adam again. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to feel like this.

"Leave me alone…" Thomas says softly, pushing at Adam for a second time. The angel frowns in his peripheral before reaching forward. Thomas stills as warm fingertips grace his cheek, wiping away cold tears. Biting his lip, Thomas slaps Adam's hand away from his face, turning aside to hide himself.

"Damnit, Thomas!" Adam hisses suddenly, lashing out and grabbing the Child's jaw into hand. Gasping, Thomas' eyes widen before the pupils narrow. He feels the swirl of Dark magic boiling beneath his skin and tingling his fingertips. The hatred is summoning his whip, but he holds himself back as best he can. Just for a moment… "Don't you dare push me away."

"You don't fucking know me, so why even bother trying to comfort me?" Thomas snarls at him, pulling out of Adam's grip. The angel's glaring hard at him.

"Because I want to know you! I told you I can help, but you have to let me help you, Tommy! You have to let me in!"

"I don't want to let you in. You have no business—"

"Bullshit." Thomas frowns and raises an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you save me?" Adam questions and Thomas stops. "If you don't want to be close to me, why did you save my life? Why did you give me the antidote? You could have just let the poison spread or you could have finished the job in the first place!"

"What are you—"

"I don't fight you! I don't resist you, and yet you reel me in just to push me back ten more paces. I don't understand… One moment you try to kill me, the next you save me. One moment you're telling me not to bother helping you and then you're telling me how you wanted to save a little girl and that ended up costing you everything?" Thomas turns his face away, biting his lip. It's true, he has been a little bipolar with the angel. But Adam does something to him that he just doesn't understand, and no matter what he does, he can't resist…

"Just leave me alone. Forget about anything I've ever told you or done for you," Thomas grumbles, picking at his nails. Adam's seething beside him, his halo burning bright in the dark of the room. When did it appear? "Just leave me…"

"No." Adam says simply and Thomas growls.

"Please…" He grits through a clenched jaw and tight fists.

"No. Because, I know, deep down you don't want me to leave you. Deep down you want me to keep trying. You want me to break your shell and make you feel beautiful again. You miss it. And you hate everything you've become… And that's why you're keeping me alive. Not to kill me once this is over. You need me, Tommy, because you want to feel beautiful…"

"Get out…" Thomas grumbles, staring hard at the few inches of space between them.

"Admit it, Tommy—"

"_Get out!_" Thomas screams, Dark coiling around his fingers as he shoves at Adam. The angel tries to palm his hands away, but gets burned when Thomas' left hand touches his bare stomach. He goes flying across the room, his white wings unfurling like lightning to slow himself before impact. Thomas watches as he crashes into the wall, putting a much larger hole into it than Thomas had, though on the opposite side. His wings twitch a little before he falls lip with a sigh, his halo hanging desperately above his head in the hole.

Panting softly, Thomas stares heavily at the angel, trying to figure out if he's just killed Adam or only knocked him unconscious. Biting his lip, he slips off of the bed and pads over to the angel, watching the labored rise and fall of the freckled chest before sighing in relief. Thomas leans against the wall, clutching it when he thinks his knees are about to give out from underneath him.

Tears sting his vision as he looks away from Adam. He doesn't want to feel this way. This constant regret and this painful agony of being a hateful failure. He doesn't want to keep crying at every memory of the angels he's hurt and killed; all of the selected who will wander without their guardians, never to become angels, themselves.

Gasping heavily, Thomas sobs into the wall, crumbling to his knees beside Adam. He doesn't want to admit it, not even to himself, that Adam's right. He doesn't want to accept that he is beautiful, as Adam says, because he feels like he'll never reach that level of purity ever again. He'll never have his feathery wings, he'll never have his halo. He'll only have his taint and his rage and if he's killed Adam, now…

"I want you to try… I want you to tear me apart and fix me, but it won't work… It'll just be like this for the rest of our lives… This cat mouse where I let you in and then hurt you… It won't work because you're just another initial to my hatred, Adam… And I'm so, so sorry…" He sobs softly, ice cold tears rushing down his face as he claws at the wall, digging his nails deep into the plaster.

"I'm sorry."


	8. Stop All The Rain And Poison The Ground

**Stop All The Rain And Poison The Ground**

**[Tommy's POV]**

He checks himself once in the mirror, going over his attire and his necessary arsenal more in his head than in the reflection he sees. Clothing wise, it's all pretty simple; he wants to be able to move and fight rather than look like a complete demon from hell. Loose black jeans and a black sleeveless shirt beneath his leather jacket with the studs. Platform boots with buckles and slim, secret side pockets holding five, thin throwing knives each; all ten blades are poisoned like the whip he possesses.

A studded belt to hold his jeans and the strap for his whip. Leather straps around his thighs, holding one dagger each; the blades are curved with jagged teeth, the handles twisted like the spine of a bat. Freshly sewn-in interior pockets in his jacket, each holding syringes of antidote. If something is to happen to himself or to Adam before this night is over, he needs to be prepared for the worst of it.

Sighing softly, Thomas turns away from the mirror and looks to the bed. The whip is coiled up neatly on his pillow, and he crosses to it. Taking the leather up into hand, he hears the soft whispering of his hateful thoughts. He shakes his head to tone them out before undoing the snap of the strap, looping the whip onto it and snapping it back into place.

His heart is skipping beats as he stares out of the window. The sun is dipping below the horizon of western New Orleans, and he wonders if he'll make it back to this place. Not that he has any real, strong attachment to it, but he's curious. Is tonight the night he's going to die? Or is it just another night of redemption before returning to the life he has now. The life he hates more than anything else?

Biting his lip, Thomas turns away from the window, passing his bed and leaving the room. He shuts the door behind him, hearing a soft rustle of feathers before looking to his left. Adam is coming out of his room as well, dressed in white jeans and a white shirt with a white and grey denim jacket. White fingerless gloves in contrast to the black on his nails. His black hair is neatly arranged around his head, sweeping around his crystal blue eyes.

Swallowing, Thomas mutters, "Are you ready?" The angel nods once, not saying a word. Since the incident the night before, Adam hasn't said a word to Thomas. And while he'll never admit that he doesn't favor it, he doesn't mind it either. With Adam not speaking to him, it makes his decisions easier.

Walking down the short stretch of hallway, Thomas' footsteps are heavy against the carpet, while Adam is nearly silent. His jaw is clenched and he stares through painted black eyes at the door of the living room. The bracelet is tight around his wrist, Brad's initial resting over his pulse.

The door seems to be a lifetime away from him before rushing in on Thomas all the same. He has to even his breathing as he curls his hand around the knob and turns, pulling the door open slowly. The sun has sun beyond and the night is creeping in as he steps out. If it were not for the enchantments he and Adam have upon themselves, they'd be one hell of a sight to behold. A man in all black with dark eyes and a man in all white with a gentle gaze.

Thomas is about to take another step forward when he feels the angel's hand curl around his right wrist. Stopping, he glances over his shoulder at Adam, melting into his boots a little as those blue eyes pierce right through what used to hold his soul. The angel looks like he wants to pull him close but he doesn't. Instead, his wings unfurl and his gaze hardens as he glances up at the sky. Thomas follows the gaze, seeing pink clouds rolling thick, turning blue.

"Hold tight," Adam tells him. Biting his lip, Thomas doesn't fight it as Adam's arm loops around his chest, his hand still locked around Thomas' wrist. Shifting and twisting it, Thomas takes Adam's palm in his and gives it a squeeze before they take off into the air.

Stomach flipping and curling into knots, Thomas gasps softly as he watches the ground shrink beneath his feet. Wind gusts through his hair and he feels the phantom of a smile ghost across his mouth. He hasn't truly left the ground like this in over six years… And it's a breathtaking sensation to feel it again, even if he's not the one with the wings.

The bubble of laughter raises to his throat as Adam takes him higher, and he can't suppress the small giggle that bursts free. Adam's arm tightens around him a little as Thomas swallows the rest of his joy. Joy… True, undeniable joy. He's missed this. He's missed flying.

The clouds rush past them in a chill of damp and cold, the colors fading from pink to grey. Storm clouds. It's almost fitting, in a way, as they pass through. Thomas glances down again to see a sea of grey and a flash of lightning in the distance. The light scatters itself through the clouds, flickering beneath him before fading. The thunder roars and makes his ears pop.

"Almost there." Adam tells him after a moment. Thomas feels a strange tug and a sense of unease like nothing he's known before. Adam's hold seems to tighten even more, squeezing the two-toned Child to his chest as a deafening pressure seems to make Thomas' head ring. He clenches his eyes and his jaw shut, palming his forehead in one hand as his body feels like it's compacting in on itself.

"Hold on, Tommy… Hold on…" Adam's voice is distant, muted and muffled as Thomas groans loudly, digging his nails into Adam's jacket. The angel's warmth is seeping into him before the compact suddenly swells and fades, and he gasps for breath. The pressure had been centered in his chest and chest, and he finds himself relishing every breath he takes as Adam's arm relaxes. He drops his hand from the denim that he's left holes in as the angel floats them a little higher until they reach the marble and golden-gate entrance to heaven.

"We had to pass through the barrier… Being that you're a Fallen, it tried to reject you. It would have if you were not with me…" Thomas groans softly, swaying a little. Adam takes his arm to hold him steady again.

"It felt like it was trying to crush me…" Thomas admits, and Adam gives him a weak smile.

"That's because it was. But, since you were with me, it was unsuccessful…" Thomas nods once.

"So I guess that's payback for saving your life, huh?" Adam chuckles, but it's flat.

"Sure." the angel says, staring at the gate. Thomas watches as Adam's eyes roam over the intricacies of the gold work before slowly making his way over to it. Frowning, Thomas follows him quietly, though he feels a twist in his stomach that tells him he shouldn't be here.

"The gate used to be enchanted, but I think it's…" Adam says, trailing off after a moment before pushing at the gates. They creak and groan before tumbling down, crashing into the clouds that they stand on. The sound rings through Thomas' ears and makes him cringe a little, but he follows Adam through the opening into heaven, his boots leaving black prints where he steps.

Ahead of them, the palace stands tall and lifeless against the white of the sky. Thomas remembers it being blue and finds everything to be too bright in this state here. The gold tower tops and marble spires gleam, rendering him nearly blind. He has to squint and shield his eyes as he walks with Adam towards the front doors. The metal work is bent and ruined and they entrance is practically wide open.

In front of him, Adam is frowning deeply, his white wings drawn tight against his back. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's cautious, just as Thomas is. But it seems, almost, that the angel is on edge, and he can't quite discern as to why this might be. Licking his lips, Thomas follows Adam into the palace.

They make their way down hallways before ascending, and the lifeless demeanor of the interior grows thick with cold gusts of air and tension. Adam is shivering in front of him, his shoulder trembling a little. Biting his lip, Thomas stays close with one hand on his whip, the other ready to defend himself in the event of an attack.

"This isn't right," Adam mumbles softly as they climb the tower steps towards the top. Thomas' heartbeat quickens and he gazes at the back of Adam's head.

"What do you mean?" The Child asks, his voice soft and quivering lightly.

"The defenses are down. The enchantments long since burnt out… There's something wrong here," Adam explains, guiding him higher and higher into the tower. Thomas resists the urge to look down the spiral staircase that they're ascending, not wanting the vertigo to make him stop. Instead, he clutches the railing for a moment, taking a pause to breathe.

Adam doesn't notice until he's ten paces ahead that Thomas has stopped, and he turns around slowly, staring at the Child. "What is it?"

"You don't have to do this…" Thomas mentions, feeling his stomach clench as he risks a peek. It's a long way down.

"What do you mean I don't have to do this?" The angel tilts his head to the side a little and Thomas swallows the lump from him chest.

"You don't have to go with me. You can leave… I..I won't follow you when this is over. You don't have to stay." Thomas mumbles quietly, his heart skipping beats. There are a million things that could go wrong once they reach the top. The Wise could make Adam Fall. They could kill him. They could make Adam turn on Thomas… He knows something is going to happen and if he can keep Adam out of it, he'll do anything he can…

"Tommy," Adam says gentle, taking a step back down towards the two-toned male. "I told you I would. I'm not going back on that word."

"Please, Adam," Thomas begs softly, gazing up at him with wide brown eyes. "Just go. Leave here. Be free and happy and watch after your selected. Guide him and rebuild the order of angels. Please…"

Adam watches him for a long time before sighing heavily, making his way down the stairs towards Thomas. His hand is trembling around the railing and he stares down the stairwell, his stomach twisting angrily at images of Adam plummeting with smoldering wings and a burnt out halo. He can't risk the angel. Not when Adam is so pure…

"Tommy…" Adam whispers softly before pulling the Child into a close and tight hug. Choking softly, Thomas buries his face into Adam's chest, shaking like a young child in his mother's arms. Adam coos gently to him, running his fingers through Thomas' soft hair to soothe him. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying by you until this is over."

"B-but you'll—"

"I don't care. I don't care what happens…"

"Adam.." Thomas groans softly, clutching the angel's jacket.

"I love you, and I won't leave you…" Thomas freezes at the words. They're more than just that. It's a promise. An oath to a Fallen brother to pick him back up after the war, and Thomas sighs heavily, leaning into the angel as Adam's arms wrap tighter around him. Adam's lips press to his hair, warm and soft to the touch and Thomas nods against Adam's jacket.

"I'm sorry for what I did to Brad…" Thomas says after a long moment. Adam shushes him.

"It's alright. Don't worry about that now. Worry about what you must do. And know that I'll be right there with you, okay?"

"Okay. I love you, too." Adam smiles softly and Thomas chuckles weakly, pulling away from his angelical brother.

"Come on."


	9. Finally, I Can See You Crystal Clear

**Finally, I Can See You Crystal Clear**

**[Adam's POV]**

He takes Thomas the rest of the way up the stairs and to the entrance of the grand and circular room where the Wise remain. The Child's breakdown has him wracked with caution beyond what he harbored before and he has to wonder, even if only for a moment, what's going to happen to the both of them once this is over. Thomas' emotional display down in the staircase was proof enough that he doesn't have any interest in killing the angel, but Adam cannot be so certain that the Wise will be as merciful.

His heart skips beats the closer they get to the doors and he has to force himself to calm down as quietly as possible so as to not freak out the Child. As it is, he's holding Thomas' hand a little too tightly, squeezing enough to remember that Thomas is there and he's not going anywhere. Just as Adam won't go anywhere.

"Wait here," Adam tells him, reluctantly letting go of Thomas' hand. The Child nods solemnly but stays where he is beside the door, out of sight from the circular room beyond. Adam takes a breath and makes his way inside. There are candles dotted throughout as well as the three Wise sitting upon their thrones. Their robes fall like water and pool at the bottom and their halos are bright. Adam makes his way to the center, evening his breathing and relaxing his body as much as he can.

The room is silent for the longest time, leaving Adam to listen to the sound of his heartbeat within his chest. He can feel the heat of his own halo and the pull of his denim jacket. Sweat rolls down the back of his neck as he stares up at the three Angels of Wise. His mouth is closed as he breathes through his nose, trying to remain calm.

"Well?" They ask of him and he dips his head a little.

"I have failed you. I was unsuccessful in stopping him." Adam explains.

"We know. We have been watching. We are aware of your betrayal to us and the aid you have brought this demon." Adam clenches his jaw but doesn't raise his head. He spares them the satisfaction of knowing he is a traitor. He understands what it entails and he doesn't care anymore.

"There is a question we must as of you, though, Adam. One last request of your angelical self," they say and Adam tilts his head, glancing at them through the veil of his hair. "Why would you knowingly assist a Fallen Angel and risk your position as Guardian? What possessed you to betray your own kind?"

Adam pauses, taking the moment to straighten his posture and think. He can say the snarky things that come to the tip of his tongue without a second of regret, or he can wait it out. Inhaling deeply, Adam stares down at the floor beneath his feet. The very ring of stone of which Thomas fell through six years ago when he had been marked strange and traitorous. Something tells him he won't be so lucky to just Fall, though.

Licking his lips, Adam raises his gaze to the Wise. Their eyes are boring into him beneath the gleam of their halos. Three sets of hands are curled loosely around the ends of armrests from the thrones upon which they are seated. He gazes from one to the next, staring deeply into each of their eyes. They watch him with anticipation of his answer.

"Why should I tell you my reasons for my actions? Shouldn't you already know them, being as you've watched me since the start of this mission you've sent me upon?" Adam questions them, keeping his hands relaxed at his sides. Out of the corner, one of them twitches a little.

"You should know better than anyone that spoken word is sacred. Spoken word is your own decree." They say and Adam raises an eyebrow at them.

"Spoken word… How is our own spoken word our decree? Thomas Fell because you said he was strange; he was a traitor. But if our spoken word is our own decree, then he should still be angel, should he not? He never said he killed an innocent man. He said he tried to save a young girl from a horrible fate. And that is not a devilish act." Adam argues, his voice even and calm. One of the Wise twitches again.

"He admitted to having tainted talents and killing a man. That is devilish."

"Did he really? Did he say, aloud to you, that he had tainted talents? Or were you spewing so much bullshit that he could only respond to one thought at a time?" Adam hisses at them, advancing forward one small step. There's another twitch in his peripheral and he can almost feel the tension thickening in the room like ropes around a throat.

"How dare you accuse us? He admitted to his crimes!"

"Lies! He admitted to wanting to do something right! Spoken word is a sacred decree and you violated that for him! You made his decree based on your lies! You forced him to Fall because he was different from the rest of us! You forced his Guardian to prepare him for angelical power and then you mocked him for his talents! You claimed he was tainted when in truth he was more pure than you could ever hope to be!"

"Silence!"

"_No!_ You banished an innocent and beautiful angel for doing something right! You wronged him and burned him of all that was meant to be good. You asked me why I helped him? I helped him because he was still beautiful. He was still pure despite the scars of his Fall. I helped him because I realized the only true Devil's Children I'd ever known were you three!"

There is a long moment of silence between Adam and the Angels of Wise. The one of the far right keeps twitching and, in a burning flash, the three angels meld together to one. One that stands a little taller than Adam, a little larger with a halo of fire and wings of ash-grey. He slips from the throne, his footfalls like trees falling to the earth.

Adam stares up at the angel, staring into eyes black like obsidian and skin pale as snow. His heart skips a beat in his chest as silver silk robes cling to his shoulders and pool down to the floor.

"I should have known…" Adam mutters softly, hearing Thomas' footsteps behind him. The Child is in the room. "Tristan…"

Adam had heard of Tristan. He'd studied a history of Fallen Angels who turned to the true powers of the Dark, using them for hellish purposes and desires. Tristan had been one such Fallen. He was stripped of his angelical power due to sinful acts and torturous methods. He had been a strange angel like Thomas but, rather than using his talents for beneficial purposes, had used them to hurt humanity.

"You're quite clever, Adam," the angel growls, his voice thick and hard like gravel being crunched beneath tires. "Very clever indeed to take one flaw from years ago and figure this all out."

Adam's eyes narrow. "What have you done with the real angels of Wise? The ones who were true in their wisdom and did not judge?"

"They were long gone before you ever came to be, Adam. Long gone before you or your Fallen Angel companion ever even dreamed of being true angels."

"You call yourself a true angel?" Adam snarls. "You're a pathetic excuse for such! Using a mirage to pretend to be the Wise!"

Tristan growls heavily, a snow-white hand lifting. With an unnatural twist of his wrist, Adam feels a pressure heaving itself against his chest and sending him back. He unfurls his wings and catches himself, hovering up in the air with Thomas standing below him, whip brandished and fire in his eyes.

"Tristan.." The two-toned Child grumbles from below. Adam glances down to see Thomas' hand trembling around his whip, thick smoke pluming around the metallic tip.

"Aah, so the angel assassin returns to heaven… Does it hurt, Thomas? To be in such a holy place as this when you're nothing more than that? Nothing more than putrid Dark?"

"Don't listen to him, Tommy… Look at him. He's no better. He's worse. He's far worse than you ever were or will be. He's not a real angel. He's a mock. He's a true mock!" Adam calls to Thomas. The Child glances up at him for a brief moment before returning his gaze to Fallen.

Tristan turns his gaze to Adam, snarling softly. "And what would you know, Adam? You're the one helping an angel who Fell and slaughtered the rest of your kind. You stood by with your pathetic selected and let your brothers fall to his vengeance."

"And you were planning it all along, weren't you! You saw Tommy as an opportunity! You Fell and came back and used his talents against him! You made him Fall, just like you did, and spurned his vengeance to finish what you could not!" Adam shouts at him, dropping down to the ground beside Thomas. The Child is rigid with tension, caught in a mask of emotions that Adam can't quite understand. But he knows that his time is limited.

"And you are nothing more than a little brat with a silly halo and wings. You are nothing…" Tristan growls at Adam, lifting his hand again. Before Adam can even react, Thomas snaps his whip, the end coiling around Tristan's wrist. The Fallen Angel howls as Thomas bends it back, smoking curling around his arm.

"That's enough out of you!" Thomas howls, his eyes black and cold. Adam moves behind him, his wings loose and relaxed, lightly unfolded as he reaches out, touching Thomas' shoulder. The Child relaxed a little, the Dark in his eyes fading a touch.

"Easy, Tommy…" Adam whispers gently. He's so focused on keeping Thomas level headed and out of the Dark that he doesn't see Tristan grab the smoking whip until Thomas jerks forward a step.

"Fools," Tristan chuckles, pulling on the whip as hard as he can. Adam wraps his arms around Thomas as tight as he can, digging his feet into the marble floor of the room. The black smoke curls and snakes around Tristan's arms and feet, cocooning him in the Dark as Adam grits his teeth. White plumes around his fingers and hands, latching into Thomas' waist, crawling along his arms and shoulders.

"Adam, let me go…" Thomas says gently. Adam watches the black seeping into Thomas' hands like veins of tar. Clenching his jaw, Adam tightens his hold around Thomas' waist, pouring warmth into him as fast as he can. He remembers Thomas telling him not to try and make him pure. He remembers the Child saying it would do no good. But Thomas is not a true Child. He's still pure.

"No. I won't leave you…" Tristan jerks the whip again, tugging harder. Black snakes up Thomas' hands and wrists as white curls around his legs and boots. Adam presses a kiss to the back of Thomas' neck, his wings folding around the two-toned male's calves.

"Adam, stop! Don't—" Thomas says weakly, staring hard at Tristan. The Fallen Angel chuckles darkly, black smoking from his eyes and fingertips, pulsing around him like fire. Adam glares at Tristan from behind Thomas' shoulder, pouring faster into the two-toned Child in his arms.

"Take my light, Tommy… Take it and destroy him…" Adam says, feeling himself draining.

"Adam, don't! Please!"

All too soon, Tristan tugs and snaps the whip, making Thomas jerk violently. The Dark retracts from Thomas's arms, sucking itself back into the length of the whip that is spanned from one side of the stone center to the other while blowing Adam away. His feet lift off the ground and his head is thrown back as his wings open slow and lazily, feathers falling like snow and fading into shimmers of light.

The world slows where the seconds are minutes and the minutes are hours, and every heartbeat is an eternity almost. Adam watches Thomas turn his head, watching with wide brown eyes full of fear and agony. He feels his feathers scatter and fade to nothing as he soars across the room, his halo flickering violently before slipping from the top of his head. It clangs as it hits the ground, crumbling into pebbles and a stone in the shape of a small aeh.

Letting his eyes slip shut, Adam tumbles and crashes into the marble floor, slamming into the railing of the stairwell. The metal work trembles and falls away, leaving the angel lying upon the edge.

"_Adam!_" He hears Thomas howl before the floor around him cracks and chips beneath him due to impact. He opens his eyes briefly, turning his head back towards the room. Thomas is staring hard at him, eyes full of pain and need, mouth open in a wail as the floor crumbles from beneath him. A smile graces his lips as he falls.


	10. But My Knees Were Far Too Weak

**My Hands, They Were Strong, But My Knees Were Far Too Weak**

**[Tommy's POV]**

He's shaken. He's shaken and he can't breathe because all he can see in his mind is Adam falling. All he can see when he closes his eyes is Adam tumbling with that stupid smile on his face as if he's done right and yet all he can see in front of him is Tristan with a grin that says triumph. He can only feel agony and hatred for the Fallen Angel who destroyed his life and has now killed his best friend. His brother.

It's all rushing in on him at once. The Dark that he's possessed since his Fall and the Light from Adam that wraps around his body and warms his flesh. Tristan across the way with dark wings and darker eyes. Adam somewhere in the tower, falling and falling with no way to stop himself. Thomas had watched his wings, had watched the feathers peel away and disappear into white smoke and nothingness.

Clutching the whip in both hands, Thomas glances down at himself, seeing Adam's light swirling around his entire body like a second skin. It's warm and smooth, moving as he moves like it isn't even there at all. His hands tremble around the whip but he keeps his grip firm and tight around it. His knees are bent and his feet staggered as he holds his position. Tristan holds a similar stance across the room from him, snarling as electricity seems to crack through the whip in their hands.

"What are you going to do now, Thomas? You have less than thirty seconds, you know, from the top of this tower here to the bottom below; are you going to stay here and fight me and let Adam fall to his death? Or will you let go of your vengeance, your only opportunity, to try and save him?" Tristan says low and harsh under a hiss of breath. Thomas trembles, repeatedly glancing back and forth from the Fallen Angel before him and the gap in the floor just outside the room where Adam had fallen.

His heart is thrashing in his chest as the Dark whispers a countdown in his ear. _Twenty-seven… Twenty-six… _He doesn't know what to do or what to think other than this countdown that's in his head and the fact that Tristan is in front of him. It wouldn't take much to recoil the whip around his throat and plunge a few knives into his goddamned chest to get the point across that he's not going to celebrate in victory.

_Twenty-five… Twenty-four…_ Clenching his jaw, Thomas tugs at the whip, pulling Tristan off balance for only a moment, but the moment is enough to snap the whip back. It drapes on the floor as Thomas changes his stance, breathing deeply. Tristan is clad in black and he knows that it probably wasn't smart to use Dark on a Fallen Angel, but what else can he do?

_My light…_ It's like Adam is breathing into his ear and holding him tight and Thomas shivers lightly, reaching into his boot and pulling two knives out, holding them between his knuckles. Tristan barks a soft laugh, black smoking around his palms, thick and angrily until they plume and engulf the whites of his palms.

"Silly little angel," Tristan says as the black forms two whips identical to the one Thomas has clutched in his palm.

_My light, Tommy… My beautiful, special Tommy…_

Biting his lip, Thomas drops the whip from his grasp. The black smokes and fades out, leaving the leather to look normal an uncharred from years of use. Tristan raises an eyebrow as Thomas breathes in slowly, tearing down his own blackened and hateful walls to absorb the light that Adam has left him with. The light he himself used to possesses before being wrongly stripped of it.

Warmth washes over his skin, sinking into his bones like water in a sponge and he breathes evenly, feeling electrified and right. He feels his feet leave the ground for a moment before he opens his eyes slowly, staring upon Tristan and seeing nothing more than a black smudge in the light of the world. The Fallen Angel frowns at him as Thomas shows his palms, his skin tingling gently. A smile pulls at his lips as he feels as shift in his back.

"What are you doing?" Tristan questions, cracking his whips threateningly in the air. Something whispers in Thomas' ear, though, that no matter what Tristan tries to accomplish at this point, it is merely futile.

The black of Thomas' clothes and the burns in his skin melt away to expose himself entirely. The light pulses in his veins and beats with his heart as it wells and wraps itself around him. It clothes him in white from head to toe, his nails painted black like Adam's had been, and he smiles. Tristan's eyes are wide, almost fearful, as Thomas lifts higher into the air. Something tightens before unfolding and he glances to his side, seeing his wings. Only they're different. They're white with brown tips, and they're translucent. Temporary.

"Impossible!" Tristan howls, cracking the whips at Thomas. The angel takes a moment to fear that his returned angelical self will suffer the burn of demonic poison, but the whips don't even touch him. They collide with a barrier of white before Tristan howls in fury. "No!"

"You've lost…" Thomas says softly, hovering high into the air. Tristan tries cracking the whips again but Thomas reaches out, taking the ends into both hands. It's doesn't burn. It doesn't even really touch him. White laces around the ends and flashes down the lines of the whips like lightning, seeping into Tristan's dark form. The Fallen Angel shouts as the light touches him, and his knees buckle.

"You've lost and you'll burn as you've made me burn others. As you made me burn." He feels empowered if not a little strange saying this words. But they're spilling from his lips without hesitation and he knows they're right. He knows, deep down, that the true and lost Wise are speaking through him to this traitor.

"No! This can't…" Tristan pleas desperately. Thomas drops the whips and beckons at Tristan, lifting him into the air. Light crackles through his veins and makes him tremble and twitch violently. His black eyes bear cracks where white seeps through. Staring deeply at him, Thomas palms Tristan's face with his hands engulfed in white, and the Fallen Angel howls.

"It's over. You're finished…" Thomas says, power rushing through his body and hands. Tristan jerks and thrashes before stilling as the light and purity washes through him, turning him to ash and making him crumble.

Hovering down to the ground, Thomas stands in a pile of dust and smoke, light flickering around his fingertips as he turns. There's nothing left in the circular room other than pieces of stone and ash left behind. He sighs softly, about to turn again when something upon the floor catches his eye. An initial in the form of an aeh…

Adam.

_Ten… _

Eyes widening, Thomas rushes to the piece of stone, taking it into his hand and shoving it into his pocket. He pushes off from the ground, running across the room with his wings beating behind him, moving him faster and faster to the open doors and the ruined floor just beyond.

_Nine…_

His feet kick off from the ground and his wings lift him a few feet into the air. He soars out of the doors, across the ruined floor before snapping them in hard and tight. Thomas angles his body, facing down the hundreds of feet where he can barely make out the white shape of Adam's body, plummeting.

_Eight…_

He dive bombs, wings tucked to his back, arms at his side. The bracelet rattles against his flesh and the initial in pocket feels like lead as he drops like a missile. His heart is racing in his chest as he gains speed, but he's still so far from Adam.

_Seven…_

Thomas' eyes are wide and narrowed, wind tossing his hair around as the floors pass by in blurs. He's not sure which is coming up faster at this point: Adam or the floor… He prays that Adam is closer to him than the floor. He has to, because it's the only thing he can do, now.

_Six…_

Closer and closer still until Thomas pries his arms from his sides. He reaches out, his fingers grazing Adam's arms before he wraps himself around the angel, holding Adam tight to his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply and holding the breath.

_Five…_

The wings snap open hard, shooting them straight back up for a brief moment as air catches under the feathers. It starts to slip through as they descend rapidly, the floor coming up too fast for Thomas to find comforting. Biting his lip and holding Adam in one arm, he holds his hand out, palm to the ground below.

_Four…_

Light flows through him, washing down below to wrap around and slow them. But he realizes too late that by using the light, he loses the wings. And he can't stop the cocoon that folds over himself and Adam before it sucks his wings back into his flesh. He curls his arm around Adam again, turning so that he's beneath the angel, holding and protecting him.

_Three_…

It's freefalling at this point. Painful, agonizing freefalling that he's felt before. His heart is rapidly punching at his rib cage, screaming to break free as Thomas breathes evenly, pressing Adam's head to his neck as tight as he can. If it comes down to this, he wants Adam to be safe…

_Two…_

"I love you," he whispers into Adam's hair, tightening his arms one last time around the angel.

One.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

High above in the clouds of the sky, a delicate and small bird flutters his wings before stilling them and descending upon the city. His feathers flap and hiss as a cool breeze pushes between them, carrying him down and down to the trees below. His beady black eyes scan the open and wide fields below, taking note to all the polished grey stones that are dotted evenly about the acre.

He flaps his wings and flutters down to the tall branches of a tree near a drab brick building with a solid red roof and multiple stained glass windows. There is no sun, but it's bright enough to see inside that there is hardly anyone in sight. Outside, where the wind is cold with the touch of the coming winter, there are two men standing beneath a massive willow tree.

One is dressed in black from head to toe, something he hasn't done in years, with black painted nails and his hair neatly arranged around his face. Eye liner is smudged thick around his ocean blue eyes with the graces of charcoal shadow on the lids, sweeping soft and light to the edges and beneath his eyebrows. His eyes are downcast under the grey New Orleans sky, the atmosphere and his face expressing his heart better than his sleeve does. Beside him, the man who was once his selected clutches to his arm, sorrowful in his expression as rests the side of his temple against the taller man's shoulder.

There are no others around them. The land is still as those beneath it and the taller of the men rests his head atop the shorter man's, letting his eyes slip shut. A chill races down his neck, and he casts it off as the wind. He knows better though. It's cold for November, but it's not the breeze that makes him quiver. It's his own broken heart.

Adam sighs softly, opening his eyes slowly to gaze down upon the plot of land in front of him. The dirt has finally settled and moss and grass are growing over it slowly, the stone set into place at the head. Granite grey and solid with smoothed edges and gentle engraving. A simple name that confused the caretaker and priest originally, saying that such a name had already been etched into such stone. But Adam had paid them well enough and the matter was taken care of. And now it's been six months since the event.

Six months. It could not have been so. Six months since he, an angel then and clad in white with wings, accompanied his friend back to heaven to tear down a traitor. A traitor who had turned his friend blind with rage and vengeance, wreaking it upon the innocent. Six months and now he's here with Drake, staring down at a lonely grave beneath a willow tree.

"Would you like a moment?" Drake asks him and Adam nods slowly. The artist nods once and stands on his tiptoes, pressing a warm and sweet kiss to Adam's cheek. He smiles softly at Drake before watching him go down the cemetery path to their car. He lets out a heavy breath and turns his attention back to the ground before him, his heart clenching.

He doesn't remember much of what happened after the Fallen Angel had shoved him away, sending him tumbling down the tower of heaven. He remembers losing his wings and falling, but other than that there's nothing. Nothing but slipping under and waking up in the apartment, lying over Thomas…

His throat closes up and Adam cups a palm over his mouth. He remembers shaking Thomas over and over, trying to get his friend to wake. But the two-toned male had not. His eyes were closed, his skin cold. Upon inspection, he discovered that Thomas' neck and spine were shattered. And, with his hands pressed to Thomas' back, he was graced with a vision of the male wrapping himself around Adam, bearing the weight and pressure of the fall against the floor of heaven.

"Tommy…" Adam moans softly. It's been six months and every time he comes back to this place it feels like Thomas has just been buried. Laid low beneath the ground in Adam's white denim jacket, the stone initial from Adam's halo fastened onto a leather cord and tied loosely around Thomas' neck. It's been six months and his heart is still breaking every day. "You stupid fool…"

Adam drops down to his knees, disregarding that he's going to regret getting frosted mud on his jeans later, and shakes with sobs. Six months he's been haunted with dreams of watching from above as Thomas wrapped his arms around his body, whispering into his ear before crashing down into the floor. Six months Drake has tried to comfort him. And, in some fashions, he has. But there are some things that Drake cannot heal in Adam.

"Stupid, stupid fool… Just because I told you I would never leave did not mean that you could…" Adam mumbles softly, tears of black from his makeup streaking down his face. His hands are resting against his thighs, trembling in the agony that has not left him since he woke up above Thomas' lifeless body.

Adam stays there, crying and kneeling over Thomas' grave for a long time, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto his clothes. The reawakening back into a mortal life had been confusing and traumatizing enough. The diluted senses and lack of power had made him queasy, but gazing upon his friend, cold with death, had been the worst of all. He remembers spending weeks locked up in Thomas' room until the smell of his friend had faded and been replaced with his own pain.

Clenching his jaw, Adam drops his head low and gasps for a quiet breath. By no means was he ever romantically interested in Thomas, but the two-toned angel had become a steadfast and loyal friend. He loved Thomas well enough to hurt.

Shaking and crying until the sobs ring free and the shudders stop, Adam stares at Thomas' gravestone. His name is written across the top two lines, a given birth date and his death date scrawled below. The stone reads that Thomas was twenty-nine. Just twenty-nine and already gone and passed. Below that reads 'beloved angel and friend'. He can almost hear Thomas' arguments about how he wasn't a beloved angel. A smile toys at Adam's lips at the idea.

"I love you, Tommy," Adam whispers softly to the stone. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers curl around a cold object before he pulls it out. Chain links clink and shimmer in the overcast light. Small, grayed initials weigh heavily in his palm, fourteen in total. Where his initial was meant to have gone had Thomas ever actually killed him, there is another. An initial slightly larger from the rest, smoother in texture and more elegant in its script, painted white by Adam's delicate hand: tee.

Clasping the bracelet to his wrist, Adam turns it so that Thomas' initial rests against the inside of his wrist, right over his pulse. Climbing to his feet, he presses his fingertips to his lips, blowing a soft kiss to the grave as he always does when he visits. A smile and a tear form as he turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets. He walks down the long path, his boots soft against the stone as he comes to the car's side where Drake is waiting.

"You okay?" The brunette asks him and Adam nods, leaving an open-mouthed kiss to Drake's forehead.

"Yeah. I'm gonna be alright."

"Still missing him…" It's not a question. It's a fact, and Adam hums in response. "You know… maybe he's not gone. Maybe he's back where he belongs…" Drake murmurs and Adam takes a moment to ponder his young lover's words before turning his attention back up the cemetery walk to the willow tree. For a moment he thinks he sees a soft flash and beautiful brown eyes beneath a sweep of blond fringe and he smiles.

"Maybe…"


End file.
